


wanna watch you glow

by alotofthingsdifferent



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mpreg, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:49:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23669602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/pseuds/alotofthingsdifferent
Summary: Until now, he could maybe have convinced himself that he’d dreamt the whole thing up. Who hasn’t had a crazy-intense sex dream about their best-friend-slash-coworker that starts with you telling them you’ll have their baby?Now, though, he hasn’t been feeling like himself. He’s been tired a lot, more than his usual laziness, and he’s had this nagging stomach bug that hits him at weird times of the day and night.Now, he’s standing in the bathroom stall at the office holding a pregnancy test in his shaking hands, and it’s fucking positive.
Relationships: Jon Favreau/Jon Lovett
Comments: 20
Kudos: 45
Collections: Crooked Exchange 2020





	wanna watch you glow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swishandflick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swishandflick/gifts).

> For @swishandflick. I hope this makes you happy!

Lovett leans back in his seat and surveys the room, full of all the people he loves the most. Ira and Louis are in a corner booth surrounded by Keep It producers, laughing and making toasts, and Louis catches his eye from across the room and grins like a Cheshire cat, raising his glass and winking slyly. Lovett laughs brightly, raising his own glass in return, and shifts his attention to the interns, talking animatedly about what is no doubt their next big idea, sure to blow Lovett, Tommy and Favs away, as always. Akilah and Erin are around somewhere, Dan and Howli just snuck out to get back to home to Kyla, and Favs—

“Hey,” he says, a little breathless but obviously happy, his patented, gap-toothed grin splitting his face. He slides into the seat next to Lovett’s like he belongs there (which, let’s face it, he does), and his cheeks are flushed, a sure sign that he’s had more than three Old Fashioneds. “Having fun?”

“Yeah,” Lovett says, warm and honest. “Kinda can’t believe it’s been three years. Kinda can’t believe we created this, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Favs parrots, sounding as awed as Lovett feels. “Tommy’s about to make a speech, I think.” He laughs a little, sweet and fond, and looks at Lovett, eyes dancing. “Any regrets?”

“Not a one,” Lovett says, and it’s the truth. Building this company from the ground up, with his best friends by his side, is the best thing he’s ever done, and he can’t imagine having done anything else with the last three years of his life. “You?”

Favs blinks at him, shrugs a shoulder. Laughs, but it comes out a little sad. “No, not—of course not, I mean. Crooked is incredible, and the relationships we’ve built and the things we’ve created, what we’ve put out in the world? I wouldn't change any of that, not for a second.”

Lovett waits, because he knows, he can _feel_ the “but” coming. 

“But, uh. Y’know.” He glances over at Tommy and Hanna, at the swell of Hanna’s belly, at the way Tommy’s beaming down at her, and suddenly Lovett gets it. He understands without Jon even having to tell him. He puts his hand on Jon’s arm and squeezes lightly, and Jon raises his eyes, his gaze locking with Lovett’s.

“It’ll happen, ok?” Lovett says gently. “I mean, Jesus, Jon, you’re L.A.’s finest. A hell of a catch.” He squeezes again and earns a small smile from Jon. “It’ll happen.”

“Thanks, Lo,” Jon says softly, and as if on cue, Tommy’s voice fills the room.

“I’d like to propose a toast!”

Lovett lifts his glass and touches it to Jon’s, and that’s when the party begins.

~

“This was fun,” Jon laughs as he stumbles out of the Uber and into Lovett’s driveway. “This was a fun night, Lovett.”

Lovett follows him out, thanking the driver before waving him away. “It _was_ fun,” he says, clapping his hands together to emphasize the point. “We celebrated our _company_, Jon. Our company that we _created_.”

“We did a good job,” Jon agrees, and Lovett’s not sure, but he thinks Jon might be following him to his front door and not making his way across the street, where his own house lives. His suspicions are confirmed when he feels the warmth of Jon’s body behind his own as he fumbles for his keys, and he drops them to the ground when Jon’s laugh caresses the shell of his ear. 

“What’s wrong?” Jon asks, and when did his hand land on Lovett’s hip? Lovett feels like he would have remembered that, and yet—“Am I making you nervous?”

“No,” Lovett snaps, maybe a little too meanly, because Jon’s face falls and he takes the smallest step back, away from Lovett, his hand falling from Lovett’s side. This, at least, gives Lovett the chance to bend down and retrieve his keys, but when he stands up, Jon is staring at him expectantly. His eyes are dark, and his hands are shoved deep in his pockets, and if Lovett didn’t know any better, he’d think Jon was waiting for an invitation inside.

“Well,” Lovett says, unlocking his door, “have a good night, I guess.” He watches Jon from the corner of his eye as he pushes the door open, and when Jon’s shoulder’s slump, the decision is made for him. “Unless you want to come in for a night cap?”

“Really?” Jon asks, and if it were anyone else, Lovett would be second-hand embarrassed by how eager he sounds. On Jon, though, it’s endearing, and Lovett smiles, nodding his head in the direction of the house, inviting Jon in. 

They share a bottle of wine, and by the time the last sip is swallowed, they’re sitting hip to hip on Lovett’s couch, Jon’s arm draped along the back, his fingertips occasionally brushing the cap of Lovett’s shoulder or the collar of his shirt, electric where they touch the sensitive skin at the nape of Lovett’s neck. Jon’s laughing at a joke Lovett made, his head thrown back and his long, beautiful neck exposed, when Lovett says it. 

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud. At first he’s not even sure he _did_, until Jon abruptly stops laughing and stares at him with dark, curious eyes.

“What if it was me? What if I had your baby?”

Oh. Oh _shit_, Lovett thinks, panicking. He could blame it on the wine, right? The wine, or the shots at the party. Or—or, Jesus, he could claim he had a fever and was feeling delirious, _anything_ to take it back.

Except—

_”Lovett,”_ Jon says, his voice rough, and then he’s cupping Lovett’s face in both hands and kissing him, like he’s dying of thirst and the only way to survive is to kiss Lovett within an inch of his life. “Lovett,” Jon repeats, his mouth moving against Lovett’s, and Lovett doesn’t even—he can’t—

“Yeah,” he is all he can manage, and he lets Jon press him into the couch, hovering over him as they kiss, his hands in Lovett’s hair and his mouth—god, his _mouth_—only leaving Lovett’s to kiss his jaw, his cheekbones, behind his ear.

“I wanna,” Jon starts, nuzzling at Lovett’s neck, and then his hands are on Lovett’s sides, pushing his shirt up under his armpits until his chest and belly are exposed. He kisses his way down Lovett’s body, hot, sucking kisses that leave Lovett squirming, biting his lower lip hard enough to bleed. “I wanna, Lovett, please, can I—”

“Whatever you want,” Lovett gasps when Jon mouths at the bulge of his cock through his jeans. “Fuck, _fuck_ Jon, yeah, do it, whatever—”

Jon makes quick work of Lovett’s pants and underwear, tugging them down and off before working himself between Lovett’s legs, his shoulders under Lovett’s thighs. “You’re fucking—Jesus, Lovett, you’re perfect,” Jon says, and then his mouth is on Lovett’s dick, hot and wet and better than anything Lovett’s ever felt in his life. 

“Please,” Lovett begs, when Jon’s fingers graze the soft skin around his hole, and Jon smiles—fucking _smiles_—around his cock. He presses two dry fingertips against Lovett, just a gentle pressure, and Lovett bucks his hips, his cockhead hitting the back of Jon’s throat. Jon doesn’t even gag, just takes Lovett down even further, swallowing around his dick like he was born just for this. He pulls off Lovett with a wet slurp, pressing kisses to the cut of his hip and his lower belly, nuzzling at the hair around Lovett’s navel.

“Gonna fuck you so good, Lo,” Jon whispers into Lovett’s skin. “Make it so good for you, I promise.”

He gets to his feet and holds out a hand for Lovett, pulling him up and kissing him, walking him backwards all the way to Lovett’s bedroom before pushing him gently onto the bed, where he falls back with a quiet thud. “Take your shirt off,” he tells Lovett, while stripping out of his own. 

By the time Lovett has his shirt up and off, Jon’s kicking out of his pants, and Lovett’s mouth goes dry. Jon is fucking _beautiful_—tan skin and muscles, long legs and a fucking perfect cock jutting out in front of him, hard and flushed—and Lovett needs to get his hands on Jon _now_, please. 

Jon knee-walks onto the bed and covers Lovett’s body with his own. Their cocks touch and Lovett rolls his hips, groaning and dragging his fingers down the length of Jon’s back. “Where do you keep—”

“Bedside table,” Lovett interrupts, and Jon laughs, disappearing briefly before returning with slick fingers between Lovett’s legs. Lovett keens, spreading his legs wide, giving Jon all the room he needs to work his fingers inside. First one, then two, then three, until there’s sweat beading at Lovett’s temples and he has his hands fisted in the sheets, begging Jon to fuck him.

He expects Jon to turn him over, get his knees up under him and fuck him from behind. He’s not expecting it to be face to face, Jon gazing into his eyes, running his fingers through Lovett’s hair, kissing him and mumbling things like, “You feel so fucking good, Lovett,” and “wanna make you feel so good” and “wanna fill you up, baby, can I?”

It’s the last one that pushes Lovett over the edge, and he comes hard around Jon’s dick, mumbling nonsense about how hot Jon is and how much he wants this. “Yeah, c’mon, Jon, fuck me hard, fill me up, c’mon,” he says against Jon’s shoulder, gripping Jon’s ass while Jon fucks into him hard and fast. They’re both sweating, Lovett’s curls stuck to his forehead, and when Jon finally comes, he kisses Lovett through it, until he collapses on top of Lovett and they’re doing nothing but sharing breath.

When Lovett wakes up in the morning, Jon is gone, and if it weren’t for the soreness between his legs, he’d have thought he imagined the entire thing.

~

Six weeks later, it’s business as usual at Crooked HQ, and neither of them has mentioned the night Jon fucked Lovett into the mattress. They’re pretending it never happened, apparently, which—fine, whatever. Lovett can admit they were a little drunk and it was probably ill-advised. He’s been trying not to think about it too much, but sometimes he meets Jon’s eyes and remembers the Monday after, the way Jon’s gaze immediately went to the purpling mark peeking out from the collar of Lovett’s shirt. How his mouth fell open just a bit, and he touched his tongue to his lower lip, like he was remembering what he’d done to put it there, and how when their eyes met, Jon’s face flushed red and he walked straight into the corner of his desk, swearing under his breath.

Until now, it had been the only piece of evidence Lovett had that the night actually happened. 

Until now, he could maybe have convinced himself that he’d dreamt the whole thing up. Who hasn’t had a crazy-intense sex dream about their best-friend-slash-coworker that starts with you telling them you’ll have their baby?

Now, though, he hasn’t been feeling like himself. He’s been tired a lot, more than his usual laziness, and he’s had this nagging stomach bug that hits him at weird times of the day and night. 

Now, he’s standing in the bathroom stall at the office holding a pregnancy test in his shaking hands, and it’s fucking positive.

~

The next week finds him walking out of a clinic with confirmation of the pregnancy—he’s 7 weeks along and declined the opportunity to hear the baby’s heartbeat—and a folder full of papers: checklists, advice for combatting the constant nausea he’s dealing with, mile-markers, phone numbers, and a little planner to keep track of his doctor’s appointments.

He drives himself home on auto-pilot, not even bothering to turn on the radio or a podcast. He hunches over the steering wheel, clenching it tightly, and wills himself not to cry, and he makes it all the way home without shedding a single tear.

It isn’t until he pulls into his driveway and catches sight of Jon across the street, getting the mail, that he loses it. It’s the worst possible timing for a panic attack, and he knows immediately, the second that Jon’s face lights up and he waves at Lovett, that this is the moment Jon finds out that his dream of having a fairytale life with a beautiful wife is about to come crashing down.

He tries to catch his breath, but he sees Jon in his rearview mirror, jogging towards him, and his throat closes up. His eyes are already wet when Jon gets to his window and knocks, his voice muffled. “Lovett? Lovett, what’s—are you ok?”

Lovett presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and sucks in a breath, holding it as long as he can before blowing it out slowly. His car is still running, _fuck_, and he turns off the ignition with a shaky hand. 

Jon is still standing outside, but Lovett can’t bring himself to get out. “Lovett,” Jon says again, and then opens the door, crouching down next to the car. “Hey. What’s going on?” His voice is soft. Gentle. Tender. All the things that Lovett absolutely doesn’t deserve right now, and he shakes his head, sniffling a little.

“I’m, uh,” Lovett starts, but he can’t bring himself to say the words. _Remember that night I said I’d have your baby and you fucked me without a condom? Surprise, you’re gonna be a dad!_ doesn’t seem appropriate, so instead, Lovett fumbles for the folder that’s sitting on his passenger seat, the center emblazoned with _Adefris Prenatal Clinics_ in rose gold foil. He hands it to Jon and stares at his lap, fighting a sudden wave of nausea.

Jon’s quiet for a long, agonizing minute. Lovett hears the shuffling of papers as Jon opens the folder and thumbs through them, and then, “Lovett, are you—”

“I’m so sorry,” Lovett blurts, fresh tears dripping from the corners of his eyes. “That night—I shouldn’t have—and now—I know this isn’t what you wanted, that it was j-just, just one night, and now—”

“Lo,” Jon says kindly, resting his hand on Lovett’s knee. “Hey, shh, no, c’mon. C’mon, Lovett, let’s get you inside, okay? We don’t—let’s not talk about this in the driveway, huh?”

Lovett risks a glance at Jon then, expecting to see Jon’s mouth set in a firm line, angry at Lovett for messing up so badly. Instead, he’s met with Jon’s kind, soft face, even the hint of a smile pulling at the corners of Jon’s mouth. Jon gets to his feet and holds a hand out for Lovett, and it makes Lovett want to cry even harder. 

Jon tugs him out of the car gently, closing the door behind him. He’s still holding the folder, and he leads Lovett to the house with a hand on the small of his back. It’s such a sweet gesture: it has a calming effect on Lovett, and he feels some of the panic draining from his shoulders as he unlocks the door. 

They sit facing each other on the couch, and Lovett flashes back to the last time they were here: Jon’s fingers brushing the back of his neck, Jon’s laughter, Lovett opening his big mouth. _What if it was me? What if I had your baby?_

“So,” Jon says softly, setting the folder on the coffee table. “You’re, uh. You’re pregnant.”

Lovett nods, not able to bring himself to look at Jon yet. 

“Seven weeks?”

Lovett nods again, bringing his thumb to his mouth to chew at the edge of his thumbnail. His heart is racing, and he doesn’t know if he’s nauseous because he’s pregnant or because he’s terrified. Probably both.

“Are you feeling ok?”

“It’s yours,” Lovett blurts, and Jon blinks a few times, glancing away. It isn’t until he raises the back of his hand to his eyes that Lovett realizes why.

He’s crying.

_Fuck._

“I’m so sorry,” Lovett apologizes, his own throat tight. He doesn’t know what else to say, and even if he did, he doesn’t know if he could get the words out right now.

But Jon doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t even look sad, really, and he’s—he’s _smiling_ at Lovett, reaching for his hand and linking their fingers together. “What are you apologizing for, Lo? I was there that night, too. I knew this could happen. I—“ His cheeks go pink, and he bites his lower lip, looking at his lap. “Look, to be honest, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been secretly hoping it actually worked.”

Lovett must be dreaming. “Am I dreaming?” he says out loud, and Jon laughs, squeezing Lovett’s hand.

“I’m sorry I avoided you after that night,” Jon says, sincere. “We’d had a lot to drink, and I thought maybe you were trying to, y’know. Make me feel better.”

“By offering to have your baby,” Lovett says, and it sounds so ridiculous here, in the bright light of day, that they dissolve into laughter, leaning into one another.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Jon admits. “I was afraid it was a one time thing, so I just—”

“Acted like it was a one-time thing. Smart,” Lovett teases, still processing _I’ve wanted you for so long. _“I’ve wanted you too,” Lovett shares, meeting Jon’s eyes. “If we’re doing the whole confession thing.” Jon beams at him, leaning closer, and Lovett rolls his eyes playfully. “We’ve barely just admitted we like each other, can you give me two seconds before you try to kiss me, you animal?”

Jon laughs brightly, reaching for Lovett and pulling him close. “Nope,” he says, and leans in, brushing his lips against Lovett’s. He sighs happily, nuzzling at Lovett’s cheek. “You’re really pregnant,” he says, like he still can’t believe it.

“I really am,” Lovett answers, leaning in for a lingering kiss, smiling against Jon’s mouth when Jon’s hand starts creeping under his shirt. “It’s still early,” he warns gently, trailing his fingertips up and down the length of Jon’s spine. Jon kisses Lovett’s neck, nuzzles the sensitive spot behind his ear. “I’m only a few weeks along, so we have to just—”

“Curb our enthusiasm, I get it,” Jon says softly, rubbing his nose against Lovett’s stubbled jawline. His eyes are wet, glistening when he meets Lovett’s, and Lovett smiles, warm all over, his heart racing. Jon’s hand hovers over his belly, and Lovett covers it with his own, presses down until it’s resting there, a gentle pressure that makes Lovett feel safe.

“I, uh. They offered to let me hear the heartbeat today,” he says, “but I said no. I figured you’d want to be there? If not, that’s fine,” he says quickly, but Jon’s already kissing him, so Lovett’s pretty sure he’s got his answer.

~

“You won’t be able to see much this time around,” the ultrasound tech is saying, rubbing cold gel all over Lovett’s belly and pressing buttons on the machine next to the exam table. “It’s still fairly early, and thirteen weeks is too soon to determine the sex definitively through ultrasound, but I’ll point out a few things, and you’ll definitely be able to see the heartbeat.”

Jon grins and squeezes Lovetts hand, his eyes shining in the dim light of the room. 

“Ready?” the tech asks, and Lovett nods, holding his breath anxiously as she presses the ultrasound wand to his lower abdomen. His bladder is full—they’d made him drink 34 ounces of water before his appointment, what the _hell_—and he squirms uncomfortably, but he lets out his breath immediately when a tiny image pops up on the screen. It’s blurry, just a little white blob in the middle of a black hole, but it’s unmistakable. 

“Oh my god,” he whispers, and Jon laughs under his breath, brushing his lips against Lovett’s temple. “That’s—”

“That’s your baby,” the tech says, a smile evident in her voice. “Pretty amazing, huh?” She shifts the wand, pushing a little harder, and Lovett notices a small flicker on the screen. She fiddles with the buttons on the machine and says, “Hear that?” There’s a small whooshing sound, quick and steady, and Lovett and Jon both nod awed. She points at the screen. “That’s your baby’s heart beating.”

“Oh my _god_,” Lovett repeats, and when did he start crying? He wipes at his eyes, flustered, but the tech gives him a kind look and pats his thigh. 

“I bawled my eyes out when I heard my son’s heartbeat for the first time. I’m just going to grab a few measurements and then I’ll print some photos for you guys, sound good?”

They both nod, staring at the screen in amazement, Jon stroking his thumb over Lovett’s knuckles. 

When she’s finished, she hands Lovett a towel to clean off his stomach and flips the light on, handing them a long strip of photos to take home with them. “The doctor will be in in a few minutes,” she says, smiling. “Enjoy the rest of your day.” 

The door closes behind her with a soft click, and Lovett immediately unfurls the photo strip, studying each one carefully, mesmerized. “Look at her little arms!” he exclaims, touching his fingertips to the shiny paper. “I can’t believe she’s just—just—_in_ there, just swimming away, and her little _heart_ was beating, and—”

Jon’s gazing at him, a soft, fond look on his face, and he steps between Lovett’s legs, his hands resting on Lovett’s hips. “What?” Lovett asks. “Put that face away, Favreau, what are you—”

“‘She?’” Jon says softly, unable to wipe the smile from his face.

“Oh,” Lovett says, suddenly shy, flushing. “I don’t know, it just—it feels like—I don’t know. I think. I feel like.”

“A girl,” Jon says, and Lovett nods, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Jon repeats, leaning in to kiss Lovett sweetly. “A baby girl. _Our_ baby girl. I like the sound of that.”

Six weeks later, in a conference room full of so many of their favorite people, so did everyone else.


End file.
